The Amazon and the Achean
by Reality's Runaway
Summary: Helen meets her new role model: a woman who has never acted like a woman.


The Amazon and the Achean

(Artemis is a virgin goddess, but I took some liberties with the myths and gave her a daughter. Just as Athena sprang from Zeus' head, Artemis begat her daughter by magical means.)

Artemisia could tell her warriors were enjoying themselves, but she hoped it was not as blatantly obvious to everyone else how foolish they were acting.

_By the gods, they are acting like whores! And stupid ones at that!_

Efterpi's explicit flirtation with one of Priam's sons made Artemisia wince, and Obelia's histrionic displays of affection were no better. Make no mistake, Artemisia found the Trojan men, even the common ones, to be unusually attractive. But her status as Amazon Queen aside, she would have still restrained herself from venturing to impropriety. Allowing her women to drink some of the potent royal wine was probably a fault on her part.

_Priam might reconsider ever asking us to join him if he sees these fools._

"You Amazons don't seem as terrifying as everyone claims," mumbled some drunk Trojan, rubbing up next to her. She knew if he was sober, he never would have dreamt of touching her. She moved slightly away, as if his vile touch would besmirch her stunning white gown. The gown's softness and lack of shape made Artemisia uncomfortable; it was a lovely gift from the women of the palace to be sure, but she desired the familiar chill of armor upon her skin and the tightness of leather across her breasts. Without her typical attire, she felt helpless and vulnerable—highly unusual for an Amazon—as if surrounded by nothingness.

Zeva, the strong smell of drink on her breath, leaned into the Queen. Able to hold her wine amazingly well, Zeva was still intelligible.

"When is that whore coming?" she asked, referring to the guest Artemisia was most anxious to meet, Helen.

"Soon," she whispered back, taking the cup out of Zeva's long fingers. The warrior didn't mind, already forgetting what she asked and turning her attention to one of the men beside her.

Artemisia detested her unsavory behavior, as well as Efterpi's and Obelia's. Maia, the oldest of the Amazon's present and the only other sober person in the room, shook her head at Artemisia, obviously as ashamed of the warriors as the Queen was.

Just as Artemisia was about to slap Efterpi upside the head, the arrival they had all been waiting for was announced. Everyone, even the drunk ones, stood in honor as old Priam walked in, followed by the reticent Hecuba. Artemisia noticed Efterpi struggling to stand.

_I will show that girl the meaning of penitence the minute these Trojan eyes are gone._

Hector, the eldest and favorite son of Priam, stepped gallantly in. His muscled physique and commanding presence made even Artemisia blush. The dark Andromache was at his side, holding on to his arm, as if frightened by what she would find in the room.

_No, sweet princess, not the fierce Amazons of legend, just a bunch of drunks._

Then the man Efterpi had so desired to see stepped into the room: Paris.

Artemisia had to stop herself from gasping.

He really was a mortal Adonis, and the revelation gave her quite a start. Never had she seen such a _beautiful_ man. Handsome and burly, sure she had known plenty of them, but never a creature as gorgeous as the one before her. She could almost forgive Helen for running away with him.

_Efterpi must be about to faint._

Helen was naturally close to Paris, holding his hand loosely, not at all as timid as Adromache. She seemed to be putting up a front—as if to say, "You have no right to judge me. I am not afraid."

She truly was a remarkably stunning woman. Unlike the toned, trim Amazons, her body was that of a sedentary female; not thick or fat, but soft and voluptuous. Her golden hair seemingly woven by the gods themselves fell in locks across her flawless shoulders, and her strange green eyes glittered in the light. From what she could tell, Artemisia was convinced that Paris and Helen were perfect for each other—it was a shame the gods did not think so.

As Helen made her way to her seat, she glanced furtively at the Amazons, wanting to be discreet, yet desperately trying to see something. Artemisia could only guess what it was. While she, the sacred virgin Queen, was not maimed in such a way, all the other Amazons had only one breast. At the end of puberty, the right breast was cut off and the wound seared with a hot blade. It was more of an initiation ritual than anything, but originally it was performed to give the right arm more free movement for fighting and throwing. Most girls readily acquiesced, caring little about a useless body part and eager to become official Amazon warriors, but the rather beautiful and egotistical ones, like Efterpi, had to be forced to cooperate. From the beginnings of the Amazon tribe, the only reason a woman could be banished was for treachery, shameful conduct on the battlefield, or having secret relations with a man—refusal to undergo the breast-cutting ritual was simply something to be dealt with.

When Helen realized that what she had heard was true, looking intently, but briefly, at Obelia's breast, her eyes grew wide and she blushed, quickly averting her gaze. Artemisia smiled at her naiveté.

A short while later, after introductions and formal acknowledgments were made, she and her warriors settled back down to enjoy themselves. Artemisia did not feel at ease with all these feely, vile men around her, enthralled by her dangerous reputation, but wanting more than anything to touch her strong, fine body. Paris was reclining with Efterpi at his side, much to her enjoyment undoubtedly. Helen, too, looked uncomfortable, especially with her husband practically seducing an Amazon.

_She looks as miserable as I do_.

While there was nothing Artemisia could publicly do to Efterpi, she was eager to talk privately with Helen, to get to know this hated, yet seemingly demure woman. Shaking off the hand of some man, she stood up, still feeling completely exposed in her gown, and approached the sofa on which Helen was reclining.

"Would you care to take a walk in the gardens princess?" Artemisia asked humbly, even though she was a woman of ten times the power of Helen.

Helen's eyes seemed to light up, and look of relief filled her face as she readily agreed.

_She does not seem as evil as everyone says._

The Warrior Queen and Helen of Troy stepped outside into the cool, crisp Trojan night. The faint lights of the city did nothing to dim the bright stars in the sky, and the moon lent a soft glow onto the Plains of Scamander, where, already, hundreds of men had met their death. Walking away from the loud, drunken room, the two women ventured quietly onto the balcony and into the gardens, neither one knowing exactly what to say.

Helen suddenly broke the silence, blurting out what was most likely the prime thought in her mind. "You aren't cannibals or monsters."

Artemisia could not help but laugh at Helen's revelation.

"So that is what they teach you in Greece?" she joked. She found a cool patch of grass, lied down and motioned Helen to do the same.

"Well, that is what my mother told me… and everyone else, too."

"Well, I have a confession to make as well: You are not a whore or a wicked bitch," the Queen said, making sure Helen knew she meant no harm.

"Oh, but I am wicked," the shy woman replied quietly, bringing her hands over her eyes.

Artemisia felt her heart hurt a little as she looked at Helen. Her mind raced through all the accusations she had heard about this "most beautiful woman in the world," and slowly each one was melting before her eyes. She suddenly felt sorry for all the nasty, biting words she had believed and spoken to others.

In her twenty years, Artemisia had not accrued much wisdom in the way of empathizing with others, and sympathy was not standard Amazon vocabulary, but she could at least try to talk to this princess—try to understand her and perhaps be able to offer some sort of advice.

_We are the same age after all… there has to be something I can say…_

"A wrong decision does not make you wicked; we would all be doomed in the underworld if that were the case, sweet Helen."

The Queen paused, unsure what provoked her to utter such an endearment; Helen seemed to notice, too, uncovering her face and looking into Artemisia's eyes, like a little puppy who had suffered too many kicks. She continued, and even reached out for Helen's hand, something she never expected herself to do.

"No one is perfect, not even the gods—but don't tell them I said that," she smiled, "Beautiful and seductive you may be, and that is no fault of your own, but from what I can tell, you are most certainly not wicked."

"I left behind a child; I left my own little girl for him," she shook her head, as if just realizing her folly for the first time, "I am not so conceited to believe myself to be the sole reason one thousand ships full of Acheans are camped on that beach…but I was the spark that lit the fire. My girlish enchantment with one man will mean the deaths of so many. That is a thought I cannot bear."

Artemisia did not know how to respond. Helen's words spoke for themselves amazingly well, and all the Queen could do was squeeze her hand understanding.

Moments of silence passed between them, an ironic sight—the woman's whose face launched a thousand ships holding the hand of an Amazon warrior queen, who would as soon spear a man than let him touch her. Helen spoke again some time later, this time, concerning a different subject.

"What is the life of an Amazon like?" she asked, stunning Artemisia who was certain the last thing Helen wanted to discuss would be men-hating warrior women.

"Hard," she replied, quickly spitting out the first adjective that popped into her mind, "Very hard, especially for the woman who has to keep them all in line and happy."

Helen smiled at this, nodding her head in agreement.

"For any other person, I would think our culture too abstruse to discuss, but you seem to possess an understanding rare among the Acheans," she began. "We are very different from other women, as I am sure you have noticed."

"Um, yes, I noticed the breasts—," but Helen stopped herself, as if she thought it might be impolite. Artemisia only laughed.

"Yes, that comes as quite a shock to most people, especially the women."

"But you aren't…maimed. Is that because of your parentage? Because you're Artemis' child?"

"Yes, Artemis told the woman who found and raised me, Euphalia, I was to be left untouched, by both knife and man. Naturally, the repercussions of the first stipulation made the enforcement of the second rather difficult, but I have managed so far."

Helen looked at her shocked, "You mean you've honestly never been with a man?"

Artemisia shook her head, "Never. People find that hard to believe, but you also must remember I am an Amazon, and Artemis' daughter, so resisting is not all that strenuous."

"It's just you are so beautiful—"

The Queen laughed, interrupting her, "And this is coming from Helen? Helen of Troy?"

Helen let go of Artemisia's hand and crossed her arms under her breasts like a defiant child, "I really don't see what all the fuss is about. I am no prettier than you or Andromache, or even my sister, Clytemnestra."

"Then you must be as blind as you are attractive, dear Helen," she joked, playfully pulling a lock of Helen's golden hair.

"You probably think me completely ridiculous for not being able to resist a man," Helen sighed, "It would have been better if he inveigled me into coming with him, instead of me willingly following him like a lovesick puppy…which is still how he makes me feel."

"Understandably. He is absolutely stunning."

"Do you really have no men in your land?"

"Well, we don't _keep_ any. Naturally, some do end up some shipwrecked on our shores, or captured in battle. We put them to good use for a while then dispose of them."

"Good use?"

"We have to keep our race going somehow, and some of the women, like Efterpi for example, need a man's touch now and then to keep from going mad. Most of us do fine without them though."

"So you rape them, then kill them? By the gods, how do you do that?"

"A little wine and some naked Amazons. But we don't use every man we catch. You see, we only like the really strong and cunning ones, so we have little contests. We pair each man up, give them each a sword, and tell them to fight to the death. Naturally, they each want to live, but the added bonus is an exciting night with some wild Amazons. Of course, they don't know that the next morning is not so pleasant, but that is how it has to be."

"What about your baby boys? Surely, you don't kill them."

It was suddenly quiet.

The Queen did not know what to say; she took great pride in her probity, but she feared Helen's reaction to the ugly truth and her abrupt silence made Helen gasp.

"Helen, with such a surfeit of boys, we cannot let them all live. They might try to return to their mothers, with good intentions or bad, and that cannot happen. It is quick though, I assure you."

Helen was silent for a while, and then managed to speak. "Well, I have no right to judge you or your people. That is not my place," she reached for Artemisia's hand, "I want you to know I respect you as a leader and a woman."

"And I you, sweet Helen. I wish we could have met under different circumstances, but I am now certain that I am not fighting for one woman's foolishness—this war is beyond our control or power. When this is all over, I hope we can meet again in a time of peace, not as allies, but as friends."

A star shot across the starlit sky, carrying two wishes with it. One, for the protection of the beautiful, frightened princess. The other, for the strength and wisdom of the warrior queen.


End file.
